


Farmed Heart

by BosieJan



Series: The Heart Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullrian Mini-Bang, Cullrian Mini-Bang 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 13:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieJan/pseuds/BosieJan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen builds a life for himself in Ferelden after the disbanding of the Inquisition, but almost ten years of sparse letters and a childish fear of the North have left the former Commander living a rather hermit-like existence, without the love of his life by his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Farmed Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the Cullrian Mini-Bang on Tumblr. 
> 
> Link to original post on Tumblr, plus the gorgeous art done by ym523: http://fyeahcullrian.tumblr.com/post/129419706000/cullrian-fic-submission-title-farmed-heart
> 
> Please note: Trespasser DLC spoilers, mentions of depression, mild gore, and loneliness. Storyteller-style fic; more description, less dialogue. This is sappy tripe; you have been warned.

Ten years was a long time in Thedas; wars could be waged and still end, or children could be born and then stolen away to the mage circles, before the decade was up. With the Inquisition disbanded, and the Inquisitor living their life in quiet solitude in Kirkwall, Cullen had found it difficult to adjust to a life devoid of soldierly routine and structured balance.

It took nearly two years for the disbanding to fully take place and while the other companions bustled on with their lives with the toughest mindsets they could muster, Cullen took Dorian’s departure the hardest, and he retreated rather sourly to Ferelden to begin a new life without him, just below the Southron Hills.

Letters from Tevinter came frequently at first; some addressed to ‘ _the gentleman of the house_ _’_ , and ‘ _my darling Amatus_ ’, but by the time Cullen had harvested his sixth batch of winter squash, it was a shock and a surprise for a letter to show up at all. Some wrote of terrible things Cullen wished Dorian didn’t write about;

 _‘We have uprisings of blood mages, Cullen. They’re barely dressed–like savages–and they wear the bloody skins of their victims so they’ve a fresh source of blood for their on-going rituals. It’s positively monstrous, but the Magisters have become adept at subduing them.’_ , being the worst of the bunch, since Dorian began writing.

Cullen wrote back but as with his letters home during his younger years, Cullen’s penchant for writing fell short of curt missives and quickly-scribbled demands during times of duress, and few letters ever made it to Tevinter. It was a nearly two-month trip from Ferelden to Qarinus if one went entirely over-land, where Dorian had taken up nearly permanent residence in his family’s summer home. Cullen wondered what having a summer home was like, but then he remembered Dorian, and what a pompous peacock he was.

The trip would never be made by Cullen himself; he’d grown up with a terrible fear of the North. It was filled with blood-hungry, savage Qunari, that wouldn’t shy away from scalping a Fereldan boy and eating his brains for breakfast! And if it wasn’t a Qunari that caught him, it would be the vile Magisters from the Imperium, with their magic hidden up the sneaky sleeves of their robes. Cullen knew it was a lot of huffing and puffing to make the Northerners sound dangerous and he knew better, but he was just a boy from Ferelden this time, if he were to board the farm up and take the journey himself. It was a ridiculous amount of time, and the animals couldn’t survive months alone without someone watching over them. The fact that it was early autumn didn’t even dawn on Cullen; in two months’ time, it would be winter. Travel would be impossible until he’d at least made it to Nevarra, wherein he’d be weighed down by the extra winter gear and likely have to sell it off in order to travel more lightly the rest of the way.

No.

It wouldn’t happen.

It  _couldn’t_  happen. Not with his farm on the line. Love was love and while he had it, it was grand, but Cullen resigned himself to write more letters and make a note to have them sent by Pigeon Post, rather than over-land.

——————————-

Another three batches of winter squash came and went, and Cullen was finally settled into the life of a Fereldan farmer. He had been gifted with a grand amount of coin from the Inquisitor after the disbanding and he saved most of it, but the farmhouse had needed work and the animals wouldn’t buy themselves, so he’d spent a lot on start-up costs. The squash went to market twice a week and it kept well over the winter so there could be coin made from it in the spring, but the house itself was what Cullen was most proud of.

It was a standard house for a Fereldan; thick, heavily-mortared stone walls which formed three rooms, two large and one small, and a thatched roof which _didn’t_  let the sunlight or weather inside. He was sure Dorian would love it if he’d ever get a chance to see it, since Cullen’s loft quarters in Skyhold had left so much to be desired. The furniture was hand-crafted by a local farmer and household goods were traded for at the market, but Cullen’s few possessions from Skyhold had come along with him, as well.

A wooden practice dummy from the Skyhold training field sat in the corner of his bedroom, adorned with his Commander’s uniform. He stayed in ‘peasant’ clothing for comfort on the farm, and truth be told, Cullen _was_  a peasant. He had no real title outside of the Inquisition, and he preferred it that way. Plain, white linen shirts which tied up across the chest and thick linen trousers for the warmer months, though the fitted leathers were still his favourite when it grew colder.

Cullen was tending the barn in preparation for the winter, when he was alerted to new mail via Pigeon Post. The bird cooed noisily on the fence nearest the barn door and Cullen was pleased to see the small bundle attached to its leg. He grasped it tightly and worked the thread loose, fetching the tightly-coiled paper but not letting the bird go just yet. He took it inside and though awkward, Cullen managed to roll the letter he’d been holding on to, and tuck it into the attached canister, along with a pair of gold sovereigns. The bird would return to its master first, then be loosed to its final destination, so the ‘pied piper’ would paid, essentially, and the letter would reach Dorian in due time.

The letter to Dorian stating that Cullen had finally found peace with his quiet lifestyle, and that he’d stayed faithful and alone ever since the day Dorian left with his belongings bundled into a sturdy cart. He longed for Dorian to meet with him somewhere nearby, or to just visit outright, but he knew Dorian was a busy man now, and Ferelden was still very much the same as Cullen had left it, _sans_  Blight; poor, pretty, and perfect for them to live in together.

The pigeon long forgotten, another two weeks passed. The weather had finally turned chilly in the mornings and Cullen woke early each day to fetch water from the stream, so it could warm over the fire and rid itself of its wicked chill. He set the bucket onto the iron hook beside the hearth and then bundled up even tighter to visit the barn, knowing that there would be eggs and milk waiting to be gathered for breakfast, and a horse that would want to be turned out in the frost.

The animal loved rolling in the crunchy grass, while the pair of goats and trio of cows watched with barely-concealed boredom. The chickens stayed in their warm little coop in the corner of the barn, and only ventured out after Cullen began pawing around underneath them, hunting for his breakfast.

The sound of a horse that was  _not_  his own, was exactly what Cullen hadn’t prepared for, and he was immediately on edge upon exiting the barn. The whinnying wasn’t loud but it  _was_ audible, so whomever it was, was less than a mile out. The hills echoed sounds from the main road a handful of miles away, but the sound this time was impossibly close, as if Cullen had missed it entirely while doing his morning chores.

The eggs were deposited into a bowl sitting on the hearth, and the milk was covered with a damp cloth and set into a wooden box beside the front stoop, and Cullen went inside to throw his fur mantle over his bundled clothing, and fetch his sword while he was at it. The last thing he needed was some assassin tracking him down for some reason or another, or some wayward traveler looking for easy prey upon which to rob. He stood just inside his door and left it slightly ajar as the horse sounds became louder, the jingling of reins and what sounded like fine, creaking leather setting goosebumps to rise on Cullen’s arms.

Nearly forty years old and still not looking a day over thirty, Cullen peered around the door to see what sort of marauder had unsaddled himself from their horse, as the person’s feet landed heavily in the crunchy, frost-filled mud. Cullen heard his ears click, as he swallowed loudly upon seeing the cloaked figure standing before his hard-earned little farmhouse, the clang of his sword as it struck the stone floor gone unheard while the door was being thrown open.

In an ankle-dusting cloak of thick, black velvet, and lined with what was most certainly the fur of a red lion (or five), stood Dorian, similarly aged, but looking as if he’d aged  _twenty_  years, rather than nearly ten.

“Dorian?” Cullen asked hesitantly, his voice barely a whisper. His eyebrows were drawn together in what looked like concern, but he was fighting back both panic and surprise, and just a little bit of actual upset. “Maker’s breath, it  _can’t_ be. The letter’s barely been gone a fortnight!”

“A letter I’m sure has not yet arrived in Tevinter, yet here I am.”

Cullen felt the tears in his eyes long before he actually started sobbing, closing the distance between them without hesitation of any sort. He knew that it was _his_  Dorian before him; no demon, no conjured monster from the depths of the Fade. He lifted his arms to wind them around Dorian’s shoulders and buried his face against the softness of the black cloak, clutching hard enough to creak Dorian’s light armour.

Dorian, for all his coolness and somewhat-calm demeanor, curled his own arms around Cullen’s waist and held just as tightly, his nose purposely stuffed into the mantle he had once so adored. He thought it surprising that Cullen still wore it, but with the chill in the air and the lack of an enormous castle in which to reside, any sort of warmth during Fereldan autumn and winter was worth holding on to.

“We’ll surely freeze to death, should be stand here any longer, Amatus. Won’t you allow me to stable my horse and then invite myself inside?”

Cullen peeled away with a look of surprise on his face, as if he were still trying to understand his amazing stroke of good fortune, the shock then disappearing as he smiled wide. It reminded Dorian of the younger man Cullen had once been; before the Templars, before Kirkwall, before the Inquisition. Dorian felt his breath stutter as he moved himself into motion, the horse snorting gusts of white air as they headed for the barn.

“There’s room for the horses, and those of your retinue. It’s a ten-horse barn and I’ve only the one, plus some cows and other miscellaneous animals. I’m afraid your men will need to stay with them, however..”

Dorian stopped where he stood, the door to the barn mere steps away and his eyes somewhat distant as he stared into its dusty depths.

“There  _is_  no retinue, Cullen,” he said quietly. “I’ve tidied my affairs in Tevinter, and Maevaris is taking care of the rest. She’ll keep me informed via message crystal, should anything arise. I’m essentially..Fereldan now.”

Cullen stared at Dorian, dumbfounded. Dorian couldn’t have said what Cullen thought he had said.

“Dorian, it’s been ten years. You’ve no resistance to the cold weather any longer! My home is large enough for us both, the farm does do well during the harvest months, and  _yes_ , I’ve thought about this very thing happening numerous times since we last saw each other in Skyhold but  _Maker’s breath_ _,_ Dorian..what of your family empire? Your home and belongings? What of the other Magisters?”

“Mae is handling it all, Amatus. Please..just accept this weary traveler, with his meager gear and sore backside. I’m very certain that the pair of saddlebags upon my mount will suffice for the inconvenience of having to house me, and care for me, and cherish me as you once said you would.”

Cullen let go of the horse’s reins suddenly and again embraced Dorian, this time with a muffled laugh as he kissed Dorian hard. There’d be time for romance the rekindling thereof, but later. Currently, Cullen needed to have a taste of Dorian, stable the horse before the poor thing collapsed of fatigue, and dig into whatever surprises lay within the beast’s saddlebags.

—————————————-

As it turned out, Dorian’s horse, a Rivaini Asaarash affectionately known as ‘Felix’, had carried nearly its own weight in gold sovereigns in the pair of saddlebags Dorian had mentioned. The rest of the gear was light for traveling, but it also contained small comfort items from Tevinter, which Dorian felt were necessities in the South. The heavy, gold-laden saddlebags had been enchanted to ride lighter than standard gear, so Felix wasn’t slowed by their incredible weight.

“So as you can plainly see, I’ve brought enough money to start a small country, but it’s only to be spent on ourselves. I’ve no loyalties here to anyone but yourself, and what’s mine is yours, Amatus.”

Cullen stared across the open saddlebags, the morning after Dorian had arrived. They’d spent the night bathing together in Cullen’s large copper tub–with heated water, thanks to Dorian’s wonderful skills–and then reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies by candlelight. There were tears, there was laughter, there was a mighty shriek as Dorian’s cold toes touched the back of Cullen’s warm calves, but they survived their decade-long absence from each other and they intended to celebrate properly.

“It’s just  _so much_  money, Dorian,” Cullen said quietly, aghast at the shininess of the coins, and how well they appeared to be minted. “I could hire men to rebuild the barn, or add a room to the house! My equipment is in fine shape, as I’ve always managed my tools properly, but everything  _could_  be a little larger now that it’s the two of us.”

“That’s exactly the sort of spending I had in mind!”, Dorian agreed. “I’m sure there’s an entire town worth of sturdy men looking for work, and additions to both buildings would do wonders for ourselves, and the animals, of course. I did come through a few rather large towns, all of them rebuilding since the farmland has finally come back from the Blight.”

Cullen stretched out on the bed, lazily nude due to the warmth of both Dorian and the fire in the hearth. The furs were draped over his lower half and a mug of tea steamed silently on the chest at the foot of the bed; lovingly provided by Dorian as Cullen fetched the bags from the adjoining room and unveiled their glittering contents.

“And I’m not saying that you’re living the life of a pauper, Amatus, perish the thought, but you certainly lack a great deal of furniture, and we’ll remedy it as soon as winter has passed. I’m not getting into renovations and upgrades during the coldest season on this bloody continent, and no men will work for you in the snow.”

Cullen chuckled, reaching out to run his hands through the coins, their chime a sound he hadn’t heard since helping the Inquisitor bring coffers into Skyhold. “Yes, well, we’ll just have to survive the winter and then go worker-hunting in the spring. I’m sure you could choose a few strapping young men to work for us, hm?”

Dorian snorted softly. “I could choose a few to build us a barn, renovate our home,  _and_  teach us both a few tricks beneath the furs, but I assume you want only the buildings serviced, yes?”

Cullen gave Dorian a sour look and then smiled warmly, hardly offended by Dorian’s sass. “I’ll do all of  _that_ type of servicing, thank you. I don’t need some _young man_  to show me how to satisfy my lover.”

“Oh, Amatus,” Dorian crooned, pretending to swoon. “You’ve come a long way from the shy man I remember.”

“And you’ve settled down. I can see that you’ve grown your hair and covered up a little, though it could have been the weather forcing you to clothe your bare shoulder.”

“Tevinter fashion is a picky mistress, Cullen. I was entitled to a position of prestige and prominence, so growing my hair and dressing in the finest the Magisterium had to offer was only part of it.”

Cullen reached out again, this time to run a hand through Dorian’s hair. It was still the same inky black, but streaked somewhat silver at the temples. The undercut portion stayed short and Cullen enjoyed it as much now as he had a decade before, while his own hair had grown some, but he trimmed it routinely.

“I think we’ve done enough lazing about for one morning. What say we get dressed and I show you the rest of the farm? I’ve got an orchard, a bit of a vineyard, and a stream with fish in it. I don’t eat much of them, but they’re..pretty to look at.”

Dorian smiled and got up, stretching with a groan and a curling of his toes.

“Sounds  _marvelous_.”

———————————-

There were awkward questions for the first few weeks; ‘have you been with anyone else since we parted ways?’, and ‘have you heard from any of the others?’. Dorian admitted to having a handful of what he referred to as ‘bed warmers’, during their time apart, and Cullen was placated by the promise that Dorian had felt nothing for any of them, and had quite obviously abandoned his life of opulence, to live in a farm in Ferelden.

Cullen had remained celibate. Miserably so. He serviced himself often and admitted, through stammers and a brilliant blush, that he thought of Dorian every time he did it. He had stable hands on the farm when he’d first moved there, but after the initial setup of the farm, he’d let them go with coin in their pockets and an apology in their ears. They’d become a distraction, Cullen had found, and he could handle a few animals and a mild harvest by himself.

The others..were a different story altogether.

None had written to Dorian besides Cullen and Varric, and Dorian found that Varric’s letters seemed almost caustic and somewhat accusatory, so he had seldom written back. There was too much  _‘if you had stayed_ ’ and  _‘things just aren’t the same_ ’ in Varric’s letters, and Dorian wasn’t comfortable with being backed into a corner via dwarvish handwriting.

Cullen had kept in touch with Cassandra mostly; he heard little from the Inquisitor and even less from the others, only receiving constant mail from Dorian, until the letters had begun to peter out. Dorian’s explanation of it was busy-ness; he had too much to do with Maevaris and their Lucerni situation, and putting House Pavus back into the good-graces of the Archon, while seemingly futile, took priority.

———————————

His first winter alone with Cullen came and went, and Dorian found out first-hand in the spring that he was a piss-poor farmhand. He was strong, yes, but farm work was heavy and tedious, and Dorian managed to convince Cullen after their first few weeks of plowing, that they needed the farmhands back. It would be on his dime, of course; the money was equally theirs, but Cullen remained shy about the fact his lover paid for everything anymore.

When the men came to work on the farmhouse and barn, Dorian paid them generously upfront, then gave them the rest after the work was completed. Cullen stuck around to gauge their work and add commentary when he thought something needed a bit of tweaking, but Dorian, born into a privileged family and accustomed to ordering people about with far more finesse than a former military commander, calmed Cullen with tea and affection, earning himself respect from the workers, and a better-built home.

“They did a  _marvelous_  job, Amatus. Look, here; they even put in a wider stoop, so  _both_  of us may sit upon it when the rain starts. I  _do_  enjoy watching the storms as they come across the fields.”

Cullen only scowled, his arms crossed over his chest. It was nearly a pout, but Dorian had been right to allow the men their space to work, while he so skillfully distracted Cullen. “It was expensive. Don’t think I didn’t notice how much coin you actually put into this place.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and gave Cullen his own scowl. “It’s our  _home_ , Cullen. It’s magnificent and cheerful, and now it’s not simply two rooms and a privy. It’s four rooms and a privy, plus a proper loft for storing sundry goods.”

Cullen sighed and nudged Dorian in the side, lifting a hand as the men finally loaded their tools into their cart and clicked the horse into motion. “Is that a dig at my Skyhold quarters? Having a ‘proper loft’? I liked the sunshine during the mornings, and seeing the stars on clear nights.”

“But you loathed the snow and the bitter chill on the coldest of nights, and finding your gear wet after a summer storm always left you rather prickly.”

“Hush. You’ve no idea how troubled I am by the amount of coin you’ve spent. I’ll get it back to you somehow, I swear on it.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and leaned in for a kiss, sneaking in a quick one before Cullen could protest. “I paid them a paltry sum when you were present, but I’ll _never_  tell you how much the house  _and_  the barn were in total.”

Cullen scoffed, his eyebrows knotted in mild annoyance. “Never? There shouldn’t be secrets between us, Dorian.”

“This is a secret between myself and the over-sized iron tub currently residing in our privy. The horses and cattle don’t seem to mind their new, larger quarters; why should you? Besides, it’s your birthday in less than a month, isn’t it?”

“Noted,” Cullen deadpanned. “And yes, but not one I wished to celebrate, to be honest.”

“I think I’ve given you a large enough present, yes? A refurbished home, a grand new home for your animals, my handsome face on the pillow beside you each morning. Happy fortieth, Amatus.”

Cullen visibly deflated, but looked sideways at Dorian with a genuine smile on his face.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m a Pavus.”

—————————–

After the spring thaw came and summer began to warm the chill out of Ferelden’s very heart, Cullen got himself into the mood to travel. Dorian had noticed more letters coming and going via Pigeon Post, and he wasn’t so much quietly curious as he was  _devastatingly_  curious.

They had planted winter wheat which wouldn’t sprout until later summer and be ready to harvest just after the first snows came, and the farm itself bad been tended by the farmhands for the better part of three months. The men were honest, trustworthy, and older; all things Cullen had asked for, and to which Dorian had agreed.

Even a two-day trip to market was done without worry over the farm’s safety at all, so when Cullen announced early one afternoon that he and Dorian should take a trip west to Orlais, Dorian begrudgingly agreed, though his curiosity was still present.

“It’s too soon, and I’ll have nothing to wear,” he complained.

Cullen hushed him with a kiss and a bit of a saucy smile. “Let me handle everything. We’ll leave at the end of the week.”

It was only four days and Dorian fretted over the farm right up until he got into Felix’s saddle. He addressed the farmhands curtly but also with respect, demanding that everything be just as they’d left it. Afraid of actually upsetting a Tevinter Magister but being honest men anyway, they readily agreed, and said they’d stay in the farmhouse as Cullen had instructed, and treat the farm as their own.

“Yes, well, see that you  _do_ ,” Dorian quipped, while Cullen waved a hand at the men in a ‘don’t mind him’ gesture.

“We’re planning on being gone for the better part of two months, but you’ve got the location that we’re staying, should you need to send a Post to us. I’ve left spending money for you all, plus enough for Post, if necessary.”

The men thanked Cullen and the two groups separated at last, with Cullen hurrying to catch up to Dorian. The trip would be long, but the company was genuine. It certainly wasn’t an address in Orlais that Cullen had left with the senior farmhand, but Dorian didn’t have to know that. He’d no doubt notice where they were headed just by geography alone, but Cullen hoped that ten years of living opulently in Tevinter had possibly dulled Dorian’s sense of direction.

—————————–

The trip back from their destination would take no more than fifteen days, but the trip to it would take more along the lines of eighteen to twenty, due to being mostly uphill and into snow-covered mountains through the Frostbacks. The trip back, while along the same route, would be downhill for the most part, and both horses were strong enough for the slide downwards.

They had already passed the overgrown ruins of Haven, by the time Dorian noticed where they were. “You know, I never wondered what had happened to Skyhold,” he mused aloud, not really asking if that was where they were headed, but speaking his thoughts to simply break the shared silence. “I got so caught up in my cause back home, that I assumed the residents still lived there after the Inquisition was disbanded.”

Cullen cleared his throat, feeling a little nervous. “From what I understand, the only people that left were the Inquisitor and the companions. I think the Iron Bull stayed with the Chargers for a little while before they found new work, but they’ve been in the Anderfels for some time, from what Cassandra tells me.”

It was a rambling little speech, and Cullen knew Dorian was not a stupid man. He’d notice Cullen’s inability to truly lie about anything, in that Cullen talked too long about nothing.

“Then we’ll have somewhere to rest for a time, and let the horses relax. I could use a bath, and my backside is absolutely bruised from the steppes we passed through.”

Cullen nodded, not sensing any deception or suspicion from Dorian. “That sounds fine. I could use the same.”

There were no banners flying at the gate, but Dorian narrowed his eyes as they crossed the bridge, seeing something flying from the balcony of what had once been the Inquisitor’s quarters. He couldn’t make out the heraldry on the cloth, but it looked eerily familiar nonetheless.

Cullen’s sense of dread and nervousness reached their peak as the pair finally came to a halt before the main doors to Skyhold, some people milling about as if a pair of men showing up randomly was only a mild inconvenience. Neither of them recognized anyone, but Dorian’s eyes were on the banners flying above them, the recognition of the heraldry settling into Dorian’s stomach like a frozen stone.

He turned to look at Cullen with his eyes narrowed, his hands gripping the reins hard enough to creak the leather. “Is there a particular reason  _why_  the heraldry above us is a bastardized mix of the Imperium and Ferelden?”

Cullen cleared his throat and unseated himself with a grunt, his entire body rebelling against standing upright, with a great cramping of muscles. “Come down from there, and I’ll show you.”

Dorian remained motionless. “No. I want to know _before_  I get off the horse. If the news is treacherous, I’ve got an easy method of transportation at hand, you see.”

“Dorian,  _please_.”

Cullen used the tone reserved for sincere moments, his eyebrows drawn together in what looked like worry and possibly mild panic. He held a hand out to help Dorian down and was almost comically relieved when Dorian did slide off of Felix’s back, taking Cullen’s hand but not being as enthusiastic about it as he normally was.

The reins were handed off to the waiting stablehand, and Cullen kept a firm grip on Dorian’s hand as he pushed the door open to enter Skyhold’s main hall. Dorian balked and gave a tiny tug backwards; fear rose in his mind, of being lured into a dark room without knowledge of what lay within, and he gave a weak sound of protest before he heard Iron Bull’s bellowing laughter, and the resounding noise of Sera and Krem cackling along with him.

“Cullen, what  _is_  this..”

The door opened fully and Cullen turned to put his back to the gathered crowd inside; the Inquisition companions stood around an empty space before the throne with the exception of Solas, whose presence would not have been welcomed in any manner, no matter the celebration. The carpet runner that once laid where men were judged was white; and in the middle of it stood a small table, with a folded cloth and a pair of white candles upon it.

“ _THEY’RE HERE; EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP_!”

Dorian shook from the roar of Iron Bull’s voice, but he couldn’t even look up to scowl at the man, his eyes were so full of tears.

“Cullen-”

“Dorian, we’re not going to Orlais, if this display hasn’t already told you as much. I’ve spent the last month and a half planning this, and I invited our friends to be here with us. Most of it was Josie and Leliana’s doing, but I’m told that my input was well-received and not entirely as pathetic as I’d expected it to be.”

“Amatus-”

Cullen interrupted Dorian again by lifting Dorian’s hand to his mouth and lightly kissing the back of it, then turning to wave a hand over to the crowd. Dorian was shaking and Cullen could feel it, so he squeezed his hand a little more tightly.

“Cassandra agreed to come to Skyhold today as the Divine Victoria and marry us, legally and in every sense of the word, through a handfasting ceremony.”

“You’re asking me to  _marry_  you?”

Cullen felt the lump in his throat begin to harden. “Yes?”

Dorian snorted, but leaned in to kiss Cullen rather hard, and not without a blush rising to his cheeks. He pulled away and waved his other hand toward the crowd, making a point of gesturing to Josephine.

“This is  _your_  fault, I’m sure. Now, I’m a mess, I’ve nothing to wear-” Dorian looked at Cullen icily, and then to the surrounding room. “And..are those _dates_?”

——————————-

Their clothing didn’t matter. Their need of a bath didn’t matter.

Cassandra, in her position as the Divine Victoria, proceeded with the handfasting as soon as Dorian could be pulled from the Inquisitor’s side. The fabric used was a piece of heraldic banner from the Inquisition, as it had been what brought them together in the first place, and the candles were lit with a shaved-down piece of the original stoop from Cullen’s farmhouse, as it reminded him of how Dorian had come back to him after so long.

They were given the Inquisitor’s quarters as a sort of ‘honeymoon suite’, complete with their newly-made mixed heraldry, which was gifted by the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor’s quarters overflowed with gifts which would travel back with them in due time; both Iron Bull and his Chargers were heading to the coast later that summer, so they offered to bring the items down for a brief visit, and save the backs of Cullen and Dorian’s horses.

They may have woke the dead during the night, but none seemed to mind come morning. Dorian slept late and Cullen arranged baths for them, then a hearty meal. They had two weeks to spend in Skyhold and then they’d have to return before the two months time started to wind down. Cullen trusted the farmhands, but he didn’t wish to be out in the wilds for too long, when he and Dorian could be spending lazy mornings in their own bed, in the safety of their own home.

Their bed. Their home. No longer ‘Cullen’s bed’ and ‘Cullen’s home’. Rutherford Ranch, as Dorian had once called it.

If they wasted their time milling about the old haunts within Skyhold, drinking too much in the Herald’s Rest or relaxing too long in the heated pools below the castle, there was no one there to begrudge them their time alone.

Two unexpected reunions and all Dorian had to show for it was a beautiful home, a loving husband, and a glittering gold ring on his hand.

All Cullen had to show for it was the  _world._


End file.
